


Silver & Gold

by borrowedphrases



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Cultural Differences, Established Relationship, M/M, Mention of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 02:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17174342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borrowedphrases/pseuds/borrowedphrases
Summary: Warm comfort on the darkest night.





	Silver & Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oneatatime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneatatime/gifts).



> I know this time of year is rough for you, aibou. I love you.

In the shadowed warmth of his quarters, Garak readies himself for sleep. Loose garments flow about his form as he replicates a glass of aged kanar, heated to the perfect nightcap temperature. He holds the warm cup between his hands, letting the heat seep into his chilled fingers, sink right down to his always-too-cold bones. One slow sip, then another, as he moves across the room to his vanity. He ignores the modest mirror, closing his eyes as he takes a third and final sip, then he gently sets the small cup on the bare surface before his reflection.

With eyes closed he recalls the image of the mask he was once blessed with, the wooden visage as equally beautiful as it was homely. He breathes in slowly through his nose, then just as evenly out through his slightly parted lips. He whispers softly the end of the outlawed words, still fearful of being heard, even though he is so far from home, even though he is the only Cardassian on the station: "To live without Oralius, Lighting our way to the source, connecting us to the mystery, is to live without the tendrils of lo-"

The bleep of the door breaks his meditation. The sound not quite startling him - he can't remember the last time he was truly startled - but it is very unexpected. He sighs out his aggravation, passing his palm once over the cup of kanar before he leaves his poor excuse of a ritual for the night.

Garak turns to face the door, ready to draw any number of weapons he has hidden about his quarters if needs be. "Enter."

He wasn't expecting Julian at this hour.

Garak puts on his most charming smile, gliding a hand back over his hair to make sure it's still sleek and smooth. "And what brings you to my humble home at such a late hour, my dear Doctor?"

Julian moves into the room, wringing his hands together in front of him as he begins to pace. Garak waits for the door to woosh shut behind him, and then he fights off his urge to immediately move to comfort the good Doctor: he's learned that sometimes it is best to wait and let Julian vent his emotions.

The young man continues to pace about Garak's quarters, like a parent waiting for his clutch to hatch, or a neolate just before his first shed. He _is_ young, Garak reminds himself. He worries about the little things as much as he does the truly profound, Garak is unsure of which has brought Julian to his quarters.

After Julian has paced a total of eight back and forths, Garak breaks the poor man's concentration, his voice loud enough to carry, but gentle enough to be soothing, or so he hopes. "Would you care for a cup of Tarkalian tea, Doctor?"

Julian wavers, stumbling slightly in his pacing as he half turns to glance at Garak. He looks… unwell. Not in the medical sense, besides a bit of shadowing beneath his hazelnut eyes that garak has learned indicates fatigue in Terrans, but in a similar way that Garak himself becomes when his claustrophobia is especially troublesome.

"I- No," Julian sighs, his shoulders slumping before he runs one elegantly skilled hand through his subtly greying hair. "Thank you, but this is... tea isn't strong enough for this."

Garak tilts his head, unblinking as his gaze roams over Julian's form. "Perhaps if you explained exactly what is troubling you I could suggest something that may actually be, ah, strong enough?"

Julian stares at him for a long moment, soulful eyes drooping steadily as his mind goes over whatever genetically enhanced human minds are wont to do. Garak is a patient man, he can wait as long as is needed for Julian to sort out his rapidly processing thoughts.

"It's Christmas back home," Julian finally says, dropping his gaze to the floor and finally allowing his arms to drape down limp at his sides. "It's an end of year holiday back on Earth. It has many different origins, the oldest related to the winter solstice, the longest night of the year. Lots of spiritual associations, which is all quite pointless to my family since we've been proper agnostics for over a century now, and before that our religious affiliations didn't even celebrate Christmas so I _really_ don't understand why my mother _insisted_ that we had to be in contact this year, including a deeply awkward conversation with my self-incarcerated father and it's all just… just utterly _ridiculous_." 

"Doctor," Garak cuts in when it looks like Julian is either winding down, or gearing up for another volley of words. When the good Doctor halts and looks at him, Garak smiles, soft and slight and gentle. A genuine smile, one he has shown to less than a handful of others over his years, Julian being one of the priveledged few, and perhaps the one to have received more of them than any other. "Would you please accompany me to a holosuite?"

↭

Getting into a holosuite well after the appropriate hours is easy enough for one with Garak's talents, Quark may not even detect the intrusion when he goes over the receipts for this fiscal quarter. The tricky part is adjusting the program without raising a great deal of suspicion from Julian, who has been hovering most annoyingly - and perhaps also adorabley - at Garak's shoulder ridge the entire time.

It's all a very delicate matter, really, adjusting the program Ziyal copied for him. Going by his knowledge of Terran climate standards while guessing at Bashir's hereditary and personal adaptive heat tolerances, he thinks he may have found the best lower temperature to reprogram the Cardassian Sauna program to so that Julian may find it just a touch too hot, but Garak won't find it a pointlessly cool endeavour. He smiles to himself, then steps back and gives a little flourishing gesture for Julian to proceed ahead of him.

Julian doesn't even bother to make a teasing comment about exposing his back so willingly to Garak, he just shuffles sullenly into the suite, and Garak knows in that moment that he made the right decision is bringing him here. The doors close behind him as he follows after Julian, granting them privacy.

Garak feels the same tug of longing in his core as he steps into the program, the strong want to return home, not just to Cardassian space, but to his home _world_ , aching pain like a deep wound that just won't heal. There's more to it now, grit scraping at the edges of the injury; the last time he visited this program Ziyal was with him, still alive, still foolishly in love him with.

"What is this place?" Julian's voice cuts through Garak's wandering thoughts, bringing him back to the present. 

"It's a replication of a Cardassian sauna," he explains, the smile he always hides behind returning to his face. He moves further into the cave, closer to the near-molten rock in the center. "I've modified the program so that it is more appropriate for your physiology. Please do let me know if I need to adjust the temperature further."

Garak glides over to stand in front of Julian, reaching to carefully take his hands. He tugs gently, but insistantly, and as Julian steps forward he steps back, walking them over to the flattened stones that ring the glowing source of heat. Julian is giving him the most curious look, a light tugging upwards at the corners of his mouth. There's still a shadow over his eyes, still lines of irritation and worry across his brow. 

Without a word of warning, Garak begins undressing the good Doctor, ridding him of his atrocious uniform, revealing the beautifully golden skin beneath. It tarnishes slightly here and there - over the bridge of Julian's nose, across the line of his collarbones - in a manner than Garak has learned indicates embarrassment or exertion, that humans refer to as a 'blush'. He's become quite enamoured with the particular shade Julian's skin goes when he blushes, many times going to great lengths to cause the reaction. 

Garak removes his own clothing once Julian is stripped down to only his Starfleet issues briefs, allowing him that small level of modesty. He will never not be baffled by the fact that humanity evolved with their genitalia so dangerously exposed, but he's learned to adjust to Julian's sensitivities. 

Sitting Julian down on one of the flat stones, Garak makes quick work of disrobing until he's completely bare, folding their garments and setting them aside with proper care. He circles the stones, moving with what he hopes is an extra level of serpentine grace toward the opposite platform stone. 

"Please," Garak makes a sweeping gesture toward Julian as he sprawls out on his own stone. "Make yourself comfortable."

It's not as hot as Garak would prefer it, but it's still a great deal warmer than the rest of the station, so he stretches out, curling over onto his side and settling his head down of his crossed arms. Julian is watching him, still sitting upright on his own stone, and there's the most endearing expression on his face, one Garak has only witnessed a few times before. His eyes have softened, the lines of worry smoothed out until they're barely detectable anymore. A blush still dusts his cheeks, and his lips - such _lovely_ lips - are soft and gently curved. 

"This is a pleasant place to relax." Garak explains, answering Julian's unasked question. He pulls one hand out from beneath his cheek, then glides his palm across the warm stone. "Don't you think?"

"It is." Julian still hasn't laid down, still has his eyes fixed on Garak's form. There's a certain level of knowing in his gaze, and Garak has a feeling he himself would be blushing, if his scales were capable of such a thing. Usually he's the one giving that particular look. Usually he's the one who's able to read Julian like an open book, not the other way around.

"I used to come to a sauna like this," Garak explains, his voice going soft as he allows the modest heat to sink into his scales, flow through his body and ease the lingering tension in his muscles. "When my… _familial relations_ were being particularly difficult."

Julian just about crumbles, slumping down onto his stone and gazing up at the ceiling of the cave. He stretches a bit, enough that Garak can see the lines his ribs as the movement pulls the flesh of his chest taught. Then he folds his arms behind his head. "It's just… being reminded of where I come from, of what's been done to me, of the lack of control over my own bodily functions they gave me. Even though my father is in prison, even though I cut off all communication with them years before that, I still get the distinct impression that they feel like they were _right_. That they feel justified over _manipulating_ me, in-"

"In abusing you?" Garak cuts in softly when Julian hesitates, and there's a moment, brief and just barely there, where Julian flinches, stung by Garak's words.

"Yes." Julian whispers, closing his eyes and letting out a trembling breath. 

Garak moves, forgoing grace for speed, and rounds the heatrock so that he may sit beside Julian. He leans over him, cups his cheek, and tilts Julien's head just far enough so that he can meet his gaze. Rich hazelnut eyes meet Garak's own icy blues, the depth of sorrow and frustration he finds in Julian's eyes makes Garak's heart clench. A silver thumb traces a golden cheek, slow, careful, trying to wipe away all those long lines of worry.

_You are so much more than what they've done to you. _Garak wants to say, but refrains. Maybe it's not his place to say such things, when his own existence is the result of a parent's ambitious manipulation. Maybe it's not anyone's place to say such a thing at all.__

__Maybe it's just Garak's place to be there for him._ _

__Julian shifts, lifting one hand out from beneath his head. His long, thin fingers slide into Garak's slicked back hair, gripping tight and tugging, guiding Garak down until their mouths _crush_ together. Garak falls, so willingly and happily, down against Julian's lithe body. He's half resting on Julian's chest, his hip pressing flush against the heated stone._ _

__Soft skin against smooth scales._ _

__Julian's hand tightens in Garak's hair._ _

__Garak's hand glides down to cup the side of Julian's neck._ _

__They fall into one another, hurried kissing and shuddering breaths. This isn't where Garak was intending to end up when he brought Julian here, but if the writhing union of their bodies is what Julian needs right now, well, Garak certainly won't deny him._ _

__Garak could never deny his Julian._ _


End file.
